No Easy Fix
by Crystal Sampson
Summary: "He was quiet. Real quiet. Then he just took off. Wouldn't return my calls. I tried to find him, but he don't want to be found." Sam never realized he was the one who didn't want to be found. He just thought there was no one who wanted to do the finding. Based on a prompt (included inside). Pretty heavy on the hurt. Not so much the comfort. Just the most convenient tag really.
1. Winchester Luck

_Author ramblings and prompt are included as a final chapter.  
_ _Standard Disclaimer Applies._ _  
_

"I don't care what it takes, Dean. You're not going to go to Hell. I'm not going to let you. I swear."

Sam should have known those words would come back to bite him in the ass. Some promises should just never be made. Simple as that. And Sam had practically promised the world.

Maybe he could be excused that one little impossible promise. This was the Winchesters they were talking about. They did the impossible every week. More often than that. And more to the point, Sam had every intention of keeping that promise. Those were not hollow words to comfort the doomed. It was fact. Bobby had found a way to pin down Lilith's location and that was all Sam needed to end the entire disaster.

Except Dean had forbidden Sam from contacting Ruby. Sam understood. She was bad news and he knew it. Sill, as far as he could see, she was their only chance at bringing down Lilith. She was a means to an end. She had information they needed. She had the knife. If Ruby was Dean's get out of jail free card, then Sam fully intended to use her. Dean would just have to deal.

So naturally they had ended up right where Lilith wanted them. And maybe Sam was a little pissed that big brother had been right again. Why couldn't just one little plan work in their favor?

When Lilith finally cornered them in that tiny dining room, Sam knew it would end in blood. His body had slammed up against the wall hard enough to make the room spin. If he had not been suspended, he might not have been on his feet at all. He hung there, pressed flat against the wall, struggling to break free – to move, breathe, anything. He could hear her prattling on in the background while she held Dean pinned to the table like some modern day sacrifice.

Sam's eyes widened as she went for the door.

Lilith smiled.

"Sic 'em, boys."

He struggled harder. This couldn't be how it all ended. It just couldn't. Sam watched as the door swung open, the dust lines breaking as it drug through them.

Sam watched. He could hear himself shouting, but couldn't bring himself to look away.

He watched as Dean was torn and shredded by the invisible dogs. He watched as his brother writhed to escape the teeth that ripped into his flesh. He watched as his brother crawled, dragging himself with what strength he had left. His screams filled the room.

And what Sam wouldn't do to block out the screams. Dean's screams. He watched until Dean was still and silent, a broken mass of flesh and dripping blood.

As it ended, he barely had time to register a flash of yellow-white light. He dropped from the wall and landed in a heap on the floor, shielding his face as best he could against the golden brightness. Odd how something so evil could look almost angelic. As the light faded, all that registered was tingling. Everything felt strange, as though someone had rearranged all the molecules in is body, and set them to thrumming. He could taste something charred and the stench of sulfur accompanied a high pitched ringing in his ears and a dull throbbing behind his eyes.

Through the dancing spots in his vision, he locked eyes with Lilith. He pulled himself to his feet, using the wall as leverage. Her eyes were wide with shock and she tried to pin him again.

He took another step forward and bent to retrieve the knife that had fall to the floor.

She said something, he couldn't quite make it out over the increased clanging in his ears. Whatever it was, she was obviously scared. With a grunt he lunged at her with the knife. She was gone with a scream and pillar of black smoke before he could get near her. As Ruby's former body fell lifeless to the floor, he forgot about her completely. He dropped down next to Dean and cradled his brother's head in his hands. Dean's lifeless eyes stared back at him. Sam clutched his brother to his chest, dimly aware that he was crying. That's how Bobby found him.

By the time the old hunter got Sam off his brother, he was exhausted. He let Bobby guide him through the motions of taking care of Dean. He had enough sense left in him to stop Bobby from burning Dean's bones. Sam was going to get him back and he would need something to come back to, some doorway to slip though. Beyond that though, Sam was numb. He just wanted to sleep. He would feel everting in the morning but for now he needed to get cleaned up and crash.

It took them all of ten minutes to find a motel to hole up in for the remainder of the night. Sam knew he couldn't make the drive back to Bobby's house. He went to check them in and found the front desk manned by a middle aged man who looked about as bored as possible. It took less than a minute to get the rooms and back out to Bobby, who was stashing the most questionable gear out of sight of the casual passerby. It was only as he approached the older hunter that he realized he'd gotten two rooms out of habit. He sighed as he handed the key over.

Bobby looked at him oddly, but seemed to realize what he'd done and didn't comment on it. They walked in silence to Sam's door. Sam was sure he should say something to Bobby, but he didn't know what. Instead, Sam slipped into the room and dumped his duffle on the bed closest to the bathroom.

When he turned, he saw Bobby leaning in the doorway, staring at him.

"Bobby, please," he said. "Just let me sleep."

The older hunter frowned and started to say something. Sam was sure he was going to offer to stay, but Sam shook his head. "I'll be fine. I just need rest. I'll meet up with you tomorrow morning."

Bobby stepped back out of the door and Sam shut it unable to bear being under scrutiny one more moment. He needed to be alone. He didn't need a witness, however close the man might be, to his coming unglued.

He was still for all of a minute before he stumbled to the bathroom to clean himself up so he could sleep. He'd need to get some rest if he was going to tackle this. Dean was gone and Sam had to fix it. He would. There had to be a way.

He stared at himself in the mirror. Grit and dirt covered his face and neck. His eyes were red rimmed and swollen and at some point his nose had bled. The cut on his forehead had scabbed over and was going to be awful to get cleaned. He ought to get on with it now since he already had a headache. The clanging in his ears had subsided to a dull thrumming that might help his headache if it ever let off.

He grabbed one of the mostly white washrags on the sink and wet it. He scrubbed down his face, took care of the cut. It was not deep just a typical head wound. It's a wonder the man at the desk hadn't called the , the events of the day and the alcohol Bobby had plied him with drug him down to sleep. He passed out on top of the bed without even taking his shoes off.


	2. 1 Unplayed Message

2 Missed Calls

1 Unplayed Message:

Sam, it's Bobby. Ellen just called. She and Jo are in real trouble and we're the closest hunters. They are in over their heads. I've got to see if I can help them. Can't lose anyone else right now. Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone. I'll be back in a day or so.


	3. To Fix Himself

Sam woke suddenly, jolting awake with the certain knowledge that something was wrong. He slipped his hand under his pillow, grasping the knife he kept hidden there, and sprang up, twisting to keep the wall to his back. He blinked in the dark of the room. Shadowed shapes loomed in the half light cast from a red neon sign just outside his window. Nothing moved. All was quiet. The room was empty.

He relaxed his posture, still sure there was something not quite right. He refused to put down the knife until he was confident there was no threat. He could see all the doors and windows from his position. Nothing looked out of place and the salt lines were undisturbed.

His knees threatened to give out when he realized what must have woken him. There was no snoring or shuffling. No lump in the next bed. No griping about being woken up at…Christ, 4 in the morning. Because if Sam had pulled a move like that, his brother would have only been a beat behind him.

Sam felt the tension drain out of him and he let himself drop back onto the bed. He groaned into his hands.

He froze.

He had groaned. He knew he had. Had felt it rumble in his chest, but hadn't heard it. He frowned down at his hands, still holding his knife. He hadn't heard the bed squeak either.

He tried to speak, involuntarily calling out for his brother, but it was still eerily quiet. His hand absently rubbed his earlobe, aware now of the oppressing lack of sound. There were no sounds of people moving outside, or bugs chirping, or highway traffic. Nothing. A complete lack of anything and he felt the pressure of the silence all at once pushing on his ear drums.

His thumb brushed something crusted where his lobe met his face and he frowned. He flicked the bedside light on, mildly disoriented at not hearing the click of the switch. He had to blink at the sudden brightness before he could examine what he found. Dark brown flakes sat on his fingertips.

He sprang to his feet and rushed to the large mirror over the sink.

He leaned in, surprised by how filthy he still was. He had only wiped the front of his face with the warm cloth, putting off a shower until he could give a dam about taking one. Maybe that was how he missed it. Or maybe it was the amount of blood caked on from the cut on his forehead.

As he leaned in, he turned his head to get a good view of his ear. Blood had crusted down from his ear to his upper jaw, a line of rusty looking crud. The same on his left, although part of that trail had been rubbed off at some point, whether on his pillow or in his earlier discovery he wasn't sure. He grabbed up the cloth from the basin where he threw it earlier and scrubbed the blood away, rubbing the skin raw in his desperation.

He stared at his reflection, gathering his courage. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

"I am not deaf," he said, the sound of his voice missing entirely.

This was not happening. It couldn't. Not today. Not after everything he had survived. Sam grasped the edge of the sink tight in his desperation. This wasn't happening.

His reflection met his eye. He had a vague moment where he wondered what had happened to the man in front of him. What had made him so pale and desperate?

The moment passed and he realized this was beyond his basic triage skills. Broken noses and stitches he could fix. Sudden hearing loss was way out of his league.

He needed to get to the hospital. They would be able to fix it. They had to. He had the emergency insurance cards in the Impala. He would use that. He had to get Bobby and get to the hospital.

As soon as the thought occurred to him, he was moving. He collected his keys and his jacket as he stumbled out the door.

He banged his fist on the next door over and yelled for Bobby, not caring what time it was. When got no answer, he tried again. And again. The last time was tinged with panic because Bobby never failed to answer Dean or Sam. Never. Sam was reaching for his lock pick set when a gruff man stomped up the sidewalk towards him saying something.

But it was dark and Sam was freaked and had always been crap at reading lips. Even after all the time his father had spent drilling him. He could do it, but not well.

The man grabbed his arm and said something else. Sam thought he might be asking if he were drunk. Sam shook his head, shaking the man's hand off his arm.

"I can't hear you."

The man looked slightly irritated.

"I need to find my uncle," Sam said. It was disconcerting to speak without hearing himself. "He is staying in this room. I'm worried something happened to him."

The man shook his head and looked at Sam with narrowed eyes. He said something but Sam just stared at him blankly. The man rolled his eyes. He jabbed his finger at the room then waved generally off towards the highway. Sam noticed a distinct lack of Bobby's truck in the spot he had parked earlier as well.

He felt his stomach sink. "He's gone?"

The man nodded.

"He say when he's coming back?" A shake of the head.

"Just left," the man mouthed.

"He leave a note or say where he's going?"

The man shook his head and waved him off. He turned to leave, but Sam grabbed his arm.

"Hey! This is important."

But the man glared at Sam and yanked away. He went back to his own room before Sam could stop him.

Sam stared at the door with dawning realization. Bobby had left. Bobby was gone. Why would Bobby have left without telling him, especially now. Had he been forced? Had something followed them back to the motel? There had been plenty of demons around earlier.

Then another thought occurred to Sam. Maybe Bobby had realized that Dean's death was Sam's fault. It would have been obvious from day one really. Who would want to be around him after that? After all, Dean had made the deal to save him. Sam was the one who was supposed to fix this problem. He had sworn that his brother was not going to Hell, and he broken that promise.

No wonder Bobby had left. He probably couldn't stand to be around Sam. He couldn't stand to look at him and be reminded of what he had done.

Sam needed to be moving. He needed to be doing and fixing. He would fix this. He would bring Dean back. To do that though, he was going to have to fix himself first.

Sam slammed back into his own room. He flung his things into his duffle. It took him all of five minutes to pack and be out the door. He would go to the hospital, get patched up, then find a demon and fix this problem.


	4. Middle School All Over Again

It took nine hours total before Sam finally got a straight answer. Three hours of waiting, five of being poked, prodded, and passing notes like a 12 year old girl, and another hour of waiting before the doctor would even begin to tell him what was wrong or what wasn't.

The doctor appeared at the door, lingering until Sam noticed him, not wanting to get punched again for sneaking up on Sam when he couldn't hear. Sam noticed the seriousness of his face and swallowed but nodded for the doc to come in. He was tall, middle aged with greying hair and he looked to be carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. He nodded at Sam as he pulled a sheet off his clipboard and handed it over. Sam frowned as he took the page. Great, more notes.

 _Mr. Junstrom_ –and Sam gave a mental eye roll over Dean's choice in names – I _regret to inform you that all your tests point to profound sensorineural hearing loss. It looks like your auditory nerve has been severely damaged. The extent of the damage is unclear. We will need to run a few more tests, but at this time it does not look treatable. There are several options_ –

Sam crumpled up the note, willing back the tears.

So that was it. Sam was sure this was some kind of cosmic justice for letting his own brother go to Hell. A tap on his arm brought his attention back to the doctor, who looked at him expectantly.

"What?" he snarled.

The man sighed and jotted something down, flipping around his clipboard for Sam to read.

 _I'm concerned about the onset. You said this started last night?_

"Yeah. Took a pretty bad blow to the head. My ears rang for a good couple of hours then I woke up like this." The doctor grimaced and Sam belatedly realized he had been shouting towards the end of his statement.

 _We did not find evidence of a concussion and a simple blow shouldn't have caused this much damage. Can you tell me anything else that might have happened?_

Sam frowned. Yep, a demon had tried to zap him with some Hell-light. That would go over well.

He shrugged. "I've told you what happened a dozen times now. I don't know what you want me to say. Are we done here?"

The doctor frowned and scribbled furiously on his pad.

 _We should discuss your option for recovery._

"What options?" Sam asked him skeptically. He watched as the doctor scribbled wildly across the page.

 _First, where you'll be staying. Looks like you aren't local. You should have someone come stay with you. It will be a big adjustment. Then there's long term living solutions. We have a councilor on staff who can discuss coping strategies and perhaps sign language course with you. In the short term we need to run a few more tests to understand the extent of your injuries and you should see a specialist. I've had you admitted for short term observation._

"No."

The doctor looked taken back. He started scribbling, but Sam cut him off with a hand thrown across the page. "You said it's not treatable, right?"

 _I said it doesn't look treatable, but there's always a chance for some improvement._

"Give me percentages. How likely is it I'll regain my hearing?"

 _It's not that simple, there are no hard numbers and without tests, it's difficult to say._

"You've run tests all morning. Ball park it."

The doctor stared at him for a moment. With a defeated shrug, he scribble down a response. _10-20% that you'll regain partial hearing._

"And a full recovery?"

The man shook his head. Sam squeezed his eyes shut. Of course.

He took a deep breath and gagged at the antiseptic laden scent in the air. He could feel the cleanness of the place. It made his skin itch. He wanted to be moving. They couldn't do anything for him now and if he was going to swap places with Dean, it didn't make much difference in the long run anyway.

"No thanks, doc."

At least speak with the councilor.

"No, I'm leaving."

The doctor shook his head. _I can't recommend that. You should at least have someone come get you._

"You don't understand. I'm leaving. Either get me the forms or don't, but I'm walking out that door in the next ten minutes."

The doctor scrambled out the door. He was back in only a couple of minutes. Sam had only had time shrug on his jacket and collect his shoes. A woman followed close behind the doctor. She was short and a little plump with cropped blond hair and Strawberry Shortcake scrubs. Her name badge read Sherrie. Sam eyed her warily, but the doctor was thrusting his clipboard at him with the release papers.

Sam took it, barely glancing at what he was signing. By now he could probably recite the AMA forms from memory. He was handed a stack of papers.

"What's this?"

The doctor waved Sherrie over and handed him a note.

 _This is Sherrie, she will go over all of the information I just gave you. Once she is done, you are free to go._

Sam felt a spark of irritation at the delay and considered brushing past both of them, but the woman seemed nice enough and the doctor practically fled the room. Sam was thrown a little off kilter by the sudden departure and turned to Sherrie who smiled awkwardly at him. She gave a little wave then sat on the bed facing him. She patted the mattress and motioned for Sam to sit beside her. She pulled a notepad out and turned it so he could watch her writing.

 _My name is Sherrie. I'm here to answer any questions you might have._

She grinned at him, and Sam couldn't help it. He found himself smiling softly in reply. Sherrie tapped the notepad and then pointed to herself. Then she motioned at Sam. It took him a minute to figure out what she wanted, but it finally he said, "Sam. My name is Sam."

She smiled and nodded. He watched her say it aloud.

 _Dr. T said you were checking out AMA_.

Sam nodded.

 _I'm supposed to explain all this information._ She gestured to the pile of papers Sam had tossed on the bed. He wrinkled his nose and she grinned.

 _I know, but it's important._

Sam shrugged.

 _Ok, the first part is all normal things. We gave you a couple of medications earlier so you should watch what you eat for a couple of hours. No greasy foods, nothing acidic – that means no OJ either._

She handed him a green sheet of paper with aftercare notes printed on it.

 _Everything should be out of your system by dinner time, but stick with bland foods. Most folks find anything else makes them queasy._

She picked up a manila folder and handed it to him. He flipped briefly though it, but had to look up when she tapped his arm.

 _These are copies of your tests and medical notes. If you decide to see a specialist, take these with you._

She handed him a stapled stack next. _Discharge papers – your copies._

Finally she fingered a handful of glossy brochures. She nodded and handed them to him. T _hese are facilities you might want to look into. They offer living strategies and counseling. The last one is for a community ed sign language course. If you go, ask for Mandy. She's the best._

Sam tried to still the shaking in his hands. This was his life now? Brochures and notes and sign language classes? Well, at least for as long as it took to find a demon he could deal with.

Sam was brought back to reality with a nudge in his side. He glanced down at the pad.

 _That's everything. Are you sure I can't call anyone for you?_

Sam thought of Bobby and guilt crept over him. He'd fix all this for Bobby. Then he'd disappear.

He shook his head. Sherrie looked sad, but nodded.

 _Then you're free to go._

Sam nodded as she rose. She motioned him to follow her and walked him out. Sam was momentarily disoriented by the chaos of the front entrance. It was just after lunchtime and people were bustling everywhere. It made him feel dizzy to watch it all without sound. A hand landed on his arm, grounding him. Sherrie nodded. She hesitated, fingering something in her hand, then seemed to make a decision. She handed him a small card. With a little wave, she was gone.

Sam took a breath and stumbled his way out to the Impala. He felt a thrill of sadness as he started the engine and missed the horrible roar of the car coming to life. He wondered if he were technically allowed to drive now, but shrugged it off. It certainly wouldn't be the most illegal thing he'd ever done if he wasn't. A woman nearby threw him a nasty look and he glanced away. Then he felt the rhythmic vibrations of some mullet hit and grew red. The stereo must still be blaring. He flick it off, finger lingering on the switch. With a huff, he ejected the tape – Bon Jovi – and tucked it away in the shoebox, which he nestled in the back seat out of sight.

He glanced at the stack of papers in his lap, then chucked them in the back as well. He wouldn't need any of them, one way or another. He realized he still had the last thing Sherrie had given him in his hand.

He looked at what he held. It was her business card. On the back she had written a short note.

 _If you ever need anything, even just a friend to rant to, text me anytime. Or email._

He almost pitched it out the window, but thought better of it. It was the word friend. How long had it been since he'd had a friend outside of his brother? Someone to talk to or just call and gripe. True he had known Sherrie all of twenty minutes, but the offer still touched him. He tucked the card gently up under the lip of the dash and leaned back.

He needed a drink.


	5. 3 Unplayed Messages

5 Missed Calls

3 Unplayed Messages

Dammit boy, what part of "don't do something stupid" do ya not understand? That includes running off on me. When I find you, you better be on one piece, 'cause I plan on killing you myself.


	6. Dealing

Sam felt he deserved some credit. He waited until after dinnertime to start drinking. The last thing he wanted was to be laid up in the hospital because he had mixed liquor and heavy-duty drugs, but it had taken all his will power. After downing the least noxious thing on the bar menu – potato skins as it happened. He started his ongoing bender.

He was up to three days and he was working hard with his new friend Jack and Jose. He had summoned and ganked a half dozen crossroads demons and was coming to the conclusion that no one knew anything or was willing to deal. Turns out that were rather wary of Sam after the whole shooting Dean's crossroad demon and hunting down Lilith. He was going to have to find something else.

The last one had actually laughed at him. It had been the middle of the night and Sam had only needed to wait a few seconds before a man showed up, spotlighted in the single street lamp that shone dimly into the June night. His suite was sharp and his hair was meticulously combed. He looked as though he had just stepped from a business meeting.

The demon had taken one look at him and chuckled.

Sam growled at him. "Something funny?"

The demon shook his head but continued to smile. "What can I do for you?"

Sam was relying on half remembered skills and a general knowledge of conversation to know what the demon was saying, although the Jack wasn't helping. At least this one seemed to be enunciating. The last one had practically slid all the words into one another. Sam had killed her just on principle.

"You know who I am?"

The demon nodded. "Sure. The other Winchester brat."

"Then you know what I want."

"Let's see that pretty knife first."

Sam scowled. He could almost feel himself growling, but he reached into his jacket and brought out the knife. He slammed it down on the rickety, old table just at his side.

"See? No Devil's Traps either. No tricks. I want to trade. Bring my brother back. Take me for him."

The demon grinned but shook his head. He spoke, but he had moved sideways out of the circle of light in his attempt to seem nonchalant. Sam huffed in frustration. "What?"

The demon quirked his head to the side. He spoke again, but it might as well have been Greek. Or maybe Chinese. Sam knew enough Greek to get by.

The demon's grin grew predatory. He stepped back into the light. "So baby Winchester lost something?" He spoke slowly, exaggerating his words. They stretched like taffy in his mouth and Sam had a hard time making them out. His stomach dropped and he fought down the urge to punch the bastard.

"I can fix that, you know," the demon continued, sauntering up to stand opposite the table from Sam. He placed his hands on the table and leaned in close, almost seductively. "I can bring it back for you," he crooned. When he spoke, Sam could almost see the words he was speaking slip from his mouth. He imagined they were like silk sliding against bare skin, deliciously soft and smooth. Too bad it was lost on him.

Sam shook his head. "The only deal I'm interested in is for Dean. Can you do it or not?"

"Nope," he said, leaning back a little. "I'm not touching that one with a ten foot pole. Forget it kid."

"I can kill you, you know."

The demon chuckled. "Oh, and what are you going to do? You're just a deaf bum at this point. Look at you. You're no better than some street rat now." His chuckle grew into a full laugh.

The rage simmering in Sam's gut finally boiled over. He hefted the knife and with a quick motion drove it into the demon's hand, pinning it to the splintering wood. He had a moment of satisfaction when those eyes registered shock, then anger.

"I don't want 10 years. I don't want a year. I just want to trade place with Dean."

"No." That word was crystal clear.

"My soul for his. It's a fair trade."

"No!"

Sam was panting now. "Why not? Just let him go and you can have me."

"Don't you understand, Sam? Don't you get it? It's not about your soul at all. Dean's in Hell. We have him right where we want him."

He smirked.

"You want to kill me? Go ahead. I've made peace with my Lord."

So Sam killed him. He drove the knife right through the bastard's heart. The rage was appeased somewhat and Sam felt just that little thrill of being alive that came with the kill. But then it was gone and Sam had another body to deal with.

Lovely.


	7. 6 Unplayed Messages

12 Missed Calls

6 Unplayed Messages

Kid, you ain't doing yourself no favors being alone right now. You can't run forever. I meant it when I said family don't end with blood. You're what family I got left now. I don't want to see you do this to yourself. I can't watch you die too. Not now. Come on home and we'll deal with this together.


	8. The Desire to Kill

One thing was for sure. Being deaf didn't affect his ability to drink or to hole up in abandoned places. He had taken up residence in a decaying house where he spent time pouring over what little lore he could find on demonic deals and drinking himself into a stupor just to get some rest when he wasn't out chasing down even the whisper of a lead.

In a perverse way, Sam was glad Dean wasn't there to see him now. He was past being disgusting – had passed it a couple of days ago. He could feel the stiff stubble that was fast becoming more than a shadow on his jaw. He caught the scent of old whiskey and sweat whenever he moved and his head itched whenever he was lucid enough to realize it. His eyes felt like sandpaper and he couldn't sleep because half the time his deafness felt oppressive and he had a hard time relaxing enough to even think of resting. He knew what was in the dark and exactly how vulnerable he was now. When he finally did collapse in exhaustion, he was plagued by nightmares.

Nightmares of Dean being taken, filled with the baying of invisible hounds and gurgling screams. Nightmares of heat and torture conducted by half formed creatures. Then there was the reoccurring dream where his brother stood in front of him and berated him. He would stand there in some nondescript hotel room, arms crossed over his chest, figure blocking the door. He would scowl then howl at Sam.

"What are you doing Sam? Is this what you wanted? Big brother's gone and now you've got the run of the place. Do anything you want to now."

Sam would shiver. "No, Dean. I'm trying."

"Yeah, Sammy. You're always trying, but it doesn't seem to do a lot of good. God, you're pathetic. Why did I even bother? I should have just let you rot." Dean would turn. He would reach for the door as though to leave, but Sam never could let him.

"You don't mean that."

Dean would whirl on him. "Oh, yeah? I'm pretty certain this is not what I bargained for! I sold my soul for this? So you could sit around and twiddle your thumbs? What a waste."

"Dean, I'm going to get you back. I will."

Dean would snort. "Right, Sam. Just like you weren't going to let me go to Hell in first place. All the times I've bailed your ass out, and you couldn't even save me once. Not once. Some brother you are. It should be you down there. Not me."

And Sam would freeze, because Dean was right. He had damned his brother.

The guilt from that alone would have driven him to madness. That should have been enough for one man. Maybe even three men. Knowing that Sam had all but shipped Dean off to Hell gift-wrapped with a bow on top was more than enough weight to carry with him. Which was why he nearly broke when he realized he liked having those dreams as much as he hated them.

It wasn't just that he knew he deserved whatever dream-Dean dished out. He would take that beating any day. Take it and bear it for the punishment it was meant to be.

No, Sam secretly cherished them too because that was the only time he got to talk to his brother, no matter how monstrous the conversations were. That was the only time he got to hear his brother's voice.

When he woke up, soaked in sweat and shaking, it was with the knowledge that even if he did bring Dean back, even if he managed to do it without trading places and got to see Dean alive one more time, he'd never hear him again. Not that annoying humming he did when he brushed his teeth or the way he smirked with his voice when he call Sam, Sammy just because he knew it would piss his little brother off.

Dean's agonized screams would be the last thing Sam ever heard, and that realization was killing his soul just as surely as any crossroad's deal he could make.

So he drank. He drank to dull the loneliness and forget some of his guilt. He drank to make the silence seem less oppressive. He drank because he knew it would kill him slowly from the inside.

It somewhere around day ten when she showed up. He had stumbled into the current motel he was using as a base while he hunted down the newest lead, stalked another demon. Somewhere between the door and the bed he realized something was wrong. The realization did not come in time to stop the fist that was flying towards his face. Between his exhaustion and his alcoholic haze, it was embarrassingly easy for the intruder to gain the upper hand.

Then the blond chick jumped into the fray and he was caught just as neatly as he had ever been pinned by Dean back when he was learning to fight. While the goon held him in place, the woman frisked him briefly, hand lingering just a bit long for comfort over his ass, and consequently the knife tucked into his waste band.

He felt the blade slide free and felt the woman's warm breath as she spoke into his neck. He supposed he should be a bit more frightened, but really he was just pissed. Trust him to walk into a trap like an idiot.

The woman was in front of him now, threatening him. It was too dark to even begin to guess what her exact words were, but he knew a death threat when he saw one. And really he was ready to take her up on it. Maybe he and Dean could be together down in Hell.

He jerked out of the restraining hold on his arm, still tethered by the one in his hair. He shoved toward her as much as he could, trying to seem threatening rather than desperate.

"Fine. Go ahead. Do it."

He grimaced. How long had it been since he'd spoke? His throat felt scratchy and thick. Had he even made a sound? It felt strange. He had no way to know how his voice sounded and he felt like an idiot when he tried to speak. He knew he probably sounded stupid at the very least. Not that it mattered much at that moment.

She met his eye and he could see the wildness there. He recognized the same need he felt when chasing demons. It was the desire to kill, to right the wrongs that had been done to him.

She pulled back and he braced for the strike. The knife swept past him and buried itself into the chest of the demon holding him. As knife did its job and the demon died, he found himself being propelled back out the door and maneuvered into the Impala. He really wished he remembered the drive back to his derelict home.

When he came to he was sprawled on the dilapidated table in what had once been a kitchen, passed out in an exhausted haze. He had started awake with the feeling he was being watched. He was on his feet in less than a second, knife held menacingly before him. Another second and his brain had caught up with his reflexes. There was a smug woman standing in his kitchen.

Sam stared her down, in no mood for pleasantries and too drunk to care about asking questions. She smirked, then spoke. Everything was a bit hazy, even through the sharp flair of adrenaline that had his heart pumping. He only caught words.

"…that…old friend…No…"

Then her eyes flashed and he was in motion. He had dowsed her in hold water and reached for the knife. He nearly panicked when he realized it wasn't there anymore, but he pulled his gun instead. Consecrated iron might not kill a demon, but it would sting and he was not going to be murdered without making it uncomfortable for both parties involve. Last night he'd had no choice. This morning, he did.

Her eyes grew large and slightly panicked.

"Sam!...me…Ruby."

Then he understood. He relaxed but didn't drop the gun.

"Ruby? What do you want," he asked, trying to keep his tone quiet and threatening. Which was hard, considering the room was spinning.

She frowned. "I'm here to help…out…if you…me, We…beat her." He shook his head. Help? That was rich.

"Who says I want your help? Dean was right. I ought to kill you now. Who's the meat suite this time anyway?"

She frowned. "Why do you care? You've never asked before."

"I'm asking now."

She looked nervous, almost disappointed. She wouldn't meet his eye, but she did answer. "Some secretary."

Sam pushed the gun right up to her forehead. "Get out of her, now." She started to say something, but he shoved her. "I said now. Or I exorcise you and send you right back down to Hell."

Ruby huffed, but fled. The girl dropped to the floor, unconscious. Sam had just enough time to carry her out and set her on the porch before she started to rouse. He was close enough to town that she could find her own way home from there. She sat up as he was entering the house. He paused at the door and said, "Town's about a mile and a half east from here. If you leave now, you'll make dinner." He shut the door.

He returned to the kitchen and sank down in the chair he had vacated earlier. He ought to get up and draw a devil's trap, but he couldn't be bothered at this point. He grabbed the bottle he had been nursing and took a swig.


	9. 10 Unplayed Messages

21 Missed Calls

10 Unplayed Messages

Sam, I'm worried. Please just call me. I want to know you're safe. I know something big went down and I know you went to the hospital. Please, son? Just let me know you're okay.


	10. You Just Know After A While

Three days later and Sam was staring out the window when he caught movement. He watched as a dark headed girl approached his porch. Sawed off at the ready, he slunk to the door and laid his hand on the wood waiting for the vibrations that would mean someone knocking. He reacted almost instantly.

He yanked the door open, keeping the gun aimed through the splintering wood. The girl before him was short with curling brown hair. She didn't even blink. Instead, she thrust a paper at him and shoved past into the hall. He glanced at the paper – a coma patient? – then chased after the girl. He spun her and she smiled.

"See? I made sure it was kosher just for you." She smirked and said something else but he missed it. Obviously Ruby was a fast talker.

"Why are you here?"

She frowned. "Because Lilith…and you'll need my help if you want to win."

Sam growled. "You can't help me. No one can. Unless you can bring Dean back. Just leave." He turned his back on her and motioned towards the door still standing open as he made his way to the kitchen table. He sank down, head dropping into his hands.

He would not fall apart. There was nothing left to break again.

He grabbed the half-filled shot glass he had abandoned a week ago and downed it.

He didn't look around. He just wanted it all to disappear. He ought to just eat a bullet. Except as he thought that his eye fell on his books and remembered he still had a promise to keep...

He reached for the closest bottle to refill his glass, but found it snatched from his hand. He glance up to find Ruby staring at him in a confused anger. He narrowed his eyes at her and reached down beside his chair for the next bottle.

"I said fuck off."

Ruby's current face turned as bright as her namesake. She started yelling then, but Sam was so tired. He leaned back in his seat and shut his eyes, letting his head rest against the chair back. He was jolted back to awareness by a jerk to his chair and a forceful hand on his chin pulling his head down.

His eyes flew open and he was flailing against the sudden move, his training taking over. He had to force himself to stop when he realized it was just Ruby.

She was staring at him, breathing heavily and looking pissed. He met her eye. "What part of fuck off do you not understand? Go bother someone else."

"What happened to you?"

"None of your business. So leave."

"Did you hear a word I said?"

The words were said quickly and it took him a second to process, but when he did he felt the anger flair.

"No, I didn't." he said, cutting her off mid-sentence. "But I guess you missed that memo."

She stared at him. "What?"

"I haven't heard a word. Nope. Nothing. Nada." He said bitterly. "Figured that would make headlines down in Hell."

Sam barely registered that he was shouting. Ruby just stared at him dumbly. She blinked once…twice. Then her brow furrowed. She frowned.

"What are you saying?"

His anger exploded. "I'm deaf, dammit." He flung the bottle at the wall where it smashed and left the liquid dripping down the hideous paneling. He sat there panting for a minute before the fire drained from his veins. He sighed and collapsed back into the chair allowing his eyes to slip closed.

Sam felt gentle hands tugging at his arm. He cracked his eye to hair to find Ruby grimly trying to get him up. She said something. He had no interest in figuring it out, especially as it was obvious she wanted him to stand. He tried to wave her off, but she persisted.

Hoping she might go away sooner, he allowed himself to be manhandled up and guided over to his makeshift bed. He collapsed onto it with a grunt and was vaguely aware of a blanket falling over his back and legs.

When he woke it was to a nauseating smell like burnt flesh and he wanted to gag. In fact, now that he thought about it, throwing up seemed like a fine idea except he couldn't quite find his arms to lever himself up. He frowned. Stupid arms. He lay there for a long minute trying to work out how to move anything at all.

He thought he might have figured out where his eyelids were and…yep. Fuck. Why was it so bright? His head throbbed and he screwed his eyes shut again. It was only making him more nauseous. Finally, he found the muscles to lever himself upright and had to pause to let the world stop spinning.

When he found out who was barbecuing small children, he was going to get nasty, he thought as his stomach roiled.

A hand landed on his shoulder and he jerked back, grabbing the attached arm by instinct more than any conscious thought. The adrenaline focused him a little so that when he opened his eyes again he ignored the glare and the grit in his eyes in favor of sizing up the person in front of him. His gaze locked with Ruby and he frowned.

She thrust a glass of water at him and flung a bottle of pills at his head, which he failed to catch, too busy trying to hang onto the glass. He would probably have a welt there for the next hour. He fumbled with the bottle finally managing to get it open and swallow down a handful of the aspirin.

Downing the rest of the water, he stood and stumbled his way to the bathroom to relieve himself. He decided he was too ripe to go another day and subjected himself to a cold shower as well. He had discovered the water still worked in the house. He had a sneaking suspicion it was not connected to the system in town, but he had not felt particularly inclined to investigate. Regardless, the water heater, an old-fashioned gas contraption, did not work and he had been unable to fix it in the little time he had spent on it.

He returned to the dining room feeling marginally more human, only to have that awful smell assault him again.

He sank down into the chair at the table and watched through baleful eyes as Ruby put a plate in front of him. How she managed to cook considering he didn't have any electricity was a mystery, but one he wasn't interested in solving. The plate was full of eggs, bacon, and toast. He groaned and pushed it away from himself only to have it reappear under his nose. He glared up and Ruby gave him a stern look. Resigned he picked up the least offensive thing he could find and began nibbling it. Toast crumbs littered his lap, but he didn't care. Just as long as it was edible and bland.

He peered up at her wondering what she was still doing there, but honestly decided it would take too much effort to ask. She seemed to read his thoughts. Next minute she was seated next to him with a notebook, stealing his bacon. Privately Sam was relieved to see the source of the offending smell disappear. He watched her scribble for a minute before she slid the notebook back at him.

 _This is a fine mess. How long?_

He scrunched his face up in thought, trying to think through the sludge in his brain. "Two weeks?" Had it really only been two weeks? Two weeks since his world utterly collapsed?

 _What happened?_

Sam reached for his glass and took a long gulp of water. Finally he said, "Lilith."

Ruby frowned. _Lilith made you deaf?_

Sam blinked back the stinging in his eyes. He was deaf. He ought to get used to applying it to himself. He sighed, then shrugged. It seemed his universal answer to anything anymore.

"Not intentionally, I don't think. It was the night Dean-" he broke off and had to swallow back his emotions before he could continue. "Don't really know what happened. After she made me watch, she tried to blast me with this white light, but it didn't work. There was this horrible ringing in my ears for the rest of the night. When I woke up later I couldn't hear. The doctors didn't have a clue."

Ruby's frown deepened. _It was not Lilith's intention, I can tell you that._

Sam nodded. He'd guessed as much. Didn't make the results any easier, but he had suspected it was all just some accident, a cosmic joke at his expense.

"Yeah well, that still doesn't explain what you're doing here."

She scowled at him and stated scribbling. Sam took the opportunity to down the rest of his water. His throat was getting sore and he was over the Q&A session. It still freaked him out a little to speak and feel the rumble in his throat, but not hear anything. He briefly wondered how much he'd been shouting. The muscles in his cheeks and throat felt tight as though he had ben.

Sam had almost finished off a piece of toast when the notebook reappeared.

 _Like I said, Dean may be gone, but Lilith is still out there and she is bad news. Apocalyptic level bad news. Not to mention pissed that you're still alive. You've seen what she can do. She has to be stopped and if you want to kill the bitch then you're going to need my help. I want to see her burn just as bad as you do. I can help you get your revenge._

"And why should I believe you? Why would you think I want your help?"

She laughed.

 _We tried it your way. Look how that turned out. I can help you make her pay – get revenge for your brother. Save some innocent lives in the process._

Sam narrowed his eyes. "And the catch to all this?"

Ruby smirked at him. _We do it my way. That means you follow my directions. Let me take the lead on this._

Sam snorted.

 _Or you could drink yourself into oblivion. Waste Dean's sacrifice and leave millions to die._

Sam scowled at Ruby and she shrugged. He turned to stare at the trees through the window. He had to find Lilith. She held Dean's contract. She was his best chance at getting his brother back. And Ruby was his best shot at finding Lilith.

There wasn't a choice here.

He met her eye and nodded.

"Okay, we'll do it your way. What's first?"

She looked him up and down, scrutinizing his face. Finally she nodded, seemingly satisfies with that she found.

 _First, you finish your breakfast._

He took one look at the scrambled eggs and couldn't help the thought that they looked like globs of rubber cement. They would probably sit just as heavy in his stomach. He wrinkled his nose as his stomach churned. "I'm done."

She smirked at him and shrugged as if to say, suite yourself. Grabbing his fork, she snagged a mouthful of eggs. The she picked up her pen again.

 _Fine. Then we'll see if you're really as bright as Dean said you were, college boy._

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She flashed him a lopsided grin that showed more teeth than strictly necessary.

 _We'll start with the alphabet. Copy me._

Sam stared at the paper bewildered before looking to Ruby. She held her hand up about chin level and made a loose fist. She watched him expectantly. He blinked at her.

She frowned. Holding her left hand up palm out, she drew her right hand out from the left, pinching the fingers together in an exaggeratedly slow motion. She tapped the paper, indicating the last sentence she had written.

 _Copy me._

She repeated the motion again, then held the loose fist up again. It clicked. Sign language.

"You're teaching me sign language?"

She rolled her eyes.

"Why do you know sign language?"

She snatched the pen up and scrawled loosely onto the pad.

 _Hello? Demon. We don't just terrorize white middle-class Americans, you know._

"So what? There's a demon languages class or something? You just download it from demon Wi-Fi? How does that even work?"

She frowned, thinking, then shrugged. _No idea. You just know after a while._

And yeah, that totally seemed like a reasonable explanation. Sam let it drop for now.

"Copy me," she signed again, followed immediately by the loose fist once again. Sam copied her. She reached over and corrected the positioning of his thumb, then moved on to the next letter. By the end of the alphabet, Sam was sure he'd never be able to remember everything. The fog in his brain certainly made the task a bit more difficult, but he stuck to it, finally relieved to be doing something.


	11. 12 Unplayed Messages

24 Missed Calls

12 Unplayed Messages

Okay Sam, Listen up. I understand you want to be alone, and if you really don't want to be found I'll respect that. But I think you're making a mistake. You want me to leave you be then keep on doing what you've been doing. I won't chase. I promise. But boy, if you need anything you know where I'm at. The doors always open and I ain't going anywhere.


	12. Muscle Memory

Turned out, Sam was a natural at signing. Or maybe he just absorbed it because he had to, because he was using it all the time. Either way, by the end of the week, he was stringing together short sentences and that felt good.

It felt good to be less reliant on passing notes like a pre-pubescent teen and to have an almost conversation again. He wasn't delusional. He knew he still had a lot to learn before he approached anything nearing coherent, much less fluent, but it still felt good. Ruby seemed pleased with his progress as well, even if she did like to tell him his grammar was atrocious. She seemed to be waiting to start him on anything else. Whether she was gaging his progress and skills or waiting till he could have an actual conversation he wasn't sure.

He knew he would be chaffing to get started if it weren't for the fact that Ruby kept him seriously busy with his ASL. She was as hard a task master as John Winchester and forced him to remember study habits he hadn't touched in the two years since he left Stanford. Needless to say he was a bit rusty.

But if there was one thing Sam excelled at it was studying. He was a fair hand at languages too. It helped that this was technically his third, not counting the smattering of obscure, archaic languages that he'd had to translate by hand during his career as a hunter before he had managed to get his hands on a laptop that would do it for him.

Okay, so Latin was a dead language that had no native speakers, but he and Dean both had learned as much as they could. It was one of the scholarships that had meant he got to eat as well as study when he was at school. The brothers had been more concerned with holding secret conversations than with hunting applications, but they had learned it nonetheless. Sam knew his Latin.

And maybe he wasn't exactly fluent in Spanish, but he'd done that as his language elective mainly because every third person in Palo Alto seemed to speak it. So far that had not come in handy except for the occasional bar run in and that one ghost down in Texas. He was probably too rusty to mention it, but he had amassed a good chunk of vocabulary at one point.

So, needless to say that between his desire to have an actual conversation again and his natural strength with languages, he caught on pretty quickly.

Still, it was a whole month before Ruby ever even mentioned demons. Sam hesitated at the mention of demon blood, sure that it was something Dean would disapprove of, but then he remembered that this would save Dean and suddenly he just didn't care. He threw himself into that training too. Ruby watched him carefully, kept him reigned in when he started to go off the rails. All Sam knew was that he felt invincible – deaf or not – with the blood thrumming in his system. He could do anything. Secretly it scared him but this was the power that he needed to bring down that demon and get his brother home. So he stayed with Ruby and they got closer and closer to Lilith each day. With every new demon, Sam was just a little bit further in his mission.

And maybe, if Sam enjoyed it a little bit more than he should, he would try to tell himself it was fine. He was saving lives and killing demons. Where was the harm in that?

He resolutely ignored the little voice that sounded like Dean screaming "lying skank" in the back of his mind every time Ruby spoke. He was going to get his brother back and then the real Dean could yell at him all he wanted.


	13. 13 Unplayed Messages

24 Missed Calls

13 Unplayed Messages

Sam, you know none of this was your fault right?


	14. Yanked Being the Key Term

It was a little over four months since Dean had been taken. Sam had fought tooth and nail to get back some semblance of a life and he was damned sure not going to give up until his brother was home. He had done more exorcisms, unlocked more powers than he could really count.

Last night had been one of those weird, spoon-bending times when he managed to push through, felt something snap and unleash. He'd sent the demon packing, saved the man. It left him with a languorous invincibility that he reveled in. Even the mental soreness the next morning felt more like the pull of thoroughly worked muscles rather than the battered headache he got from too much work and not enough sleep.

In the back of his head, he felt like some momentous event was just on the horizon. Perhaps he was finally due some good and he was going to get a break in his search. Or maybe he was about to walk face first into disaster. That seemed to be more his style. He careened from one disaster to the next like it was some ballet orchestrated just for him. He snorted. No wonder Dean called him princess.

Either way, Sam had a weird feeling that something was going to happen that night. If anyone asked, he wouldn't have been able to describe exactly what it was he thought would happen or why. It was just a prickle under his skin. He had long accepted he had a weird ESP thing, as Dean liked to say.

So it came as little surprise when he walked out of the shower toweling his hair dry and looking for a button up to throw over his t-shirt to find Ruby at the door talking to someone. He knew she had ordered a pizza, but her body language screamed that something wasn't right. Figures, he just got all the sweat and grime from the last training session washed off and now Ruby's strange obsession with junk food would bring trouble right to their door. He was going to have to get sweaty again. At this rate he was going to have to do laundry before the end of the week, which was annoying.

He kept Ruby in his peripheral vision while he rummaged in his clothes for his shirt and pulled it on, palming the emergency stash of holy water and his silver hunting knife while he was at it.

He wasn't surprised in the least when he saw an arm shove Ruby aside. What he wasn't expecting was the face attached to that arm. He turned as the man shoved his way in, then froze.

He felt his eyes go wide.

"Dean?" He spoke for the first time in weeks. There had been no reason to – a situation strictly enforced by his newest slave driver in her attempt to hammer proper signing into his head.

What surprised it out of him was the sudden appearance of his brother, or at least something wearing his skin.

Dean turned to Ruby and said something. Sam doubted he realized who she was. Ruby huffed, then snatched the rest of her clothes up from the chair they had landed on before storming out, winking at Sam as she left. Sam was still too stunned to register what was happening. He vaguely noted Dean had said something else, but Sam's brain had finally kicked back in.

He took one step. Then a second. He came just close enough to lay his hand on Dean's chest. He marveled for just a second at how warm, how alive he felt. Then he uncapped the flask and dowsed him in one quick motion. Dean blinked and frowned, making his infamous Sammy is an idiot face.

"Sam, it's really me."

Sam could see Bobby hovering off by the door, but didn't spare much thought to it. Whatever this was had obviously tricked Bobby, or maybe they were both shape shifters.

In a blink, Sam had his knife out and was on top of Dean, their momentum carrying them back out into the hallway. Dean, for his part held his own, but Sam was quicker. He was not going to let something walk around in his brother's skin.

Finally, he was being pulled off by Bobby. Dean spoke and Bobby stopped fighting to pull him away, but didn't let go. Dean walked up and took the knife from Sam's hand. He grimaced then draw a quick shallow cut along his forearm, the second such slice it looked like. Maybe Bobby hadn't been fooled after all.

Nothing happened.

Bobby, feeling him go slack release him. He stumbled forward again.

"Dean?" he said. Dean smirked and nodded. Sam grabbed him up in his arms and crushed him. He needed to feel the solid form of his brother.

Dean was alive. Dean was safe.

Sam pulled back. "How?"

Dean shrugged. "I was hoping you could answer that."

Sam shook his head and stepped back out of Dean's immediate personal space. "It wasn't me. I didn't do this."

Sam could see it. Dean frowned. It was his disappointed frown, rolled up with his confused frown, but underneath it all was his somethings wrong with Sam frown.

Sam sighed and led the way back inside. He nodded to Bobby, not quite able to meet the man's eyes after all this time. Dean might be back, but it wasn't Sam's doing and Dean's trip to Hell was still his fault. Sam knew Bobby had no reason to forgive him. He just hoped the man would let him explain that he had been trying. He had done so much to set things right, only to have it apparently topple out from under him.

The three of them stood uncomfortably in the hideous red motel room. Dean stood against the wall, arms crossed. It would have made Sam shudder in its similarity to his nightmares if he hadn't just had his arms around the man. Dean for his part was looking far more serious than Sam expected. "So what exactly did it cost you?"

Sam eyed his brother, not entirely sure he had understood that correctly. If it hadn't been for the fact that Sam had been able to read Dean since he was four, he might have asked Dean to repeat himself. "What are you talking about?"

"Your deal Sam. I want to know what you gave up. Was it your soul? Or something else-"

"No, you've got it all wrong Dean," he said, cutting Dean off. "You've got to believe me. This wasn't anything I did."

Something flashed across Dean's face but it was gone before Sam could figure out what it was. Then Dean was on him, grabbing his shirt and yanking him so that Dean was right in Sam's face. "Don't lie to me Sam. There's no other way that this could have gone down."

Sam met his brother's eye as steadily as he could. He pushed down the anger and the frustration that was threatening to surface. "I would have done anything Dean. Anything. I wish I could say that I brought you back, that I had found a way, but It. Wasn't. Me."

His brother still didn't believe him. Sam could see it in the set of his shoulders. Dean shifted and looked around.

"So what did you do while I was gone?" he caught sight of a thong Ruby had left behind. "Was it a new woman in every town, a new town every night?"

Sam could feel the disappointment rolling off of Dean in waves. He shook his head violently. "No! Dean, I tried. I tried everything. I tried opening the Devil's Gate. I talked to every demon I could find, but no one would deal. I wasted more than I could count. I called in every favor from anyone I ever knew and no one could help. You were rotting in Hell for months – four months and I couldn't do anything. I'm sorry it wasn't me. I'd have done it in a heartbeat if I could."

Sam had to swallow back the emotions. He was angry. Angry at Dean for making he deal in first place then leaving him. Angry at Lilith for causing the whole situation. Angry at himself for not being able to save Dean, for not being able to save himself.

"Dean, I'm sorry."

Dean's face had gone soft, in what peaks of it Sam caught. He seemed startled at the outburst and refused to meet Sam's eye when he finally did work up the courage to look Dean in the face.

"It's okay, Sammy." Dean said. "You don't have to apologize. I believe you."

Bobby must have been talking because Dean was watching something over Sam's shoulder. Sam had a moment to think. "Dean," he said. "If it wasn't me, then someone else must have yanked you out."

Dean looked at him oddly, then made a face. Sam could feel the tension go from the room. "Yeah, yanked being the key term." Dean pulled aside his shirt to reveal a handprint branded onto his shoulder.

Sam hissed. "Ouch."

Dean grimaced.

"And no idea who or what might have done it?"

Dean shook his head. "Not a clue, but we'll figure it out."

Sam just drank in the sight of his brother, then grinned. Dean looked at him.

"So I guess you'll be wanting this back," Sam said drawing the amulet over his head and handing it to Dean. Dean's grin was bright when he took it.

Dean looked at Sam and caught him staring again. "Dude I know I'm hot, but I'm not into the whole incest thing."

Sam scowled. "And to think I actually missed you."

"You know it, Sammy. You were lost without me."

Sam froze. His smile became forced before it dropped completely. "Yeah man. I was."

Dean nodded in understanding. "And what's this I head about falling off the grid and ignoring Bobby's calls? We always answer for Bobby. Always."

Sam swallowed. "What?" He swung around to face Bobby. "But I thought – I mean I – I woke up and you were gone and I thought you didn't want to be around me. I figured you realized it was my fault and left. I couldn't blame you really."


	15. So Much More

Bobby stared at Sam. He looked confused, then hurt and settled on gruff irritation. "Course I didn't just leave ya. Didn't you bother to check your messages? Jo and Ellen were in trouble. I went to help them out and by the time I got back you were gone. I was worried when I couldn't find you. All I could find was that you'd gone to the hospital then checked out AMA. Moron doctors wouldn't tell me anything. Just a nurse said you'd been there, but couldn't tell me why. Do you know what that did? Scared the Hell out of me."

Sam dropped his gaze. The gruff man was harder to read even with all the practice he'd been getting. He moved his mouth less than most. Everything seeming wide open, Sam got the gist. He suspected Bobby dropped parts of his words, but he couldn't quite remember. Still, it warmed him a little to know the man had gone looking for him.

"I'm sorry Bobby. I can explain." He glanced back up with a wary hope. He knew Bobby would be angry. He never thought he'd have been worried. Bobby crossed his arms but nodded. Sam moved so that he could see both his brother and his adopted father.

"After you were gone, Dean, Lilith tried to take me out with this white light beam. It didn't work, and that seemed to freak her out so she took off right after. There was this awful ringing in my ears and I had a nose bleed, but otherwise I was fine.

"Bobby and I we- well we buried you, Dean. And then found a motel to crash in for the night. I was exhausted. I took care of the gash on my head and pretty much passed out. When I woke up, I realized something was wrong."

Sam stared down at his hands. He wasn't sure how to go on and he didn't want to see their faces. He owed Bobby the truth, though. He took a deep breath. "I – I couldn't hear. Nothing at all and I panicked. I went to find you, Bobby, but there was a man who said you'd left. All I could think was that you'd decided you couldn't be around me just then. I knew I had to get checked out at the hospital then fix things – bring Dean back.

"I went back to my room and packed what little I had pulled out. I used the emergency insurance to check in to the hospital. They ran tests, but ultimately said it was a freak thing. Profound sensorineural hearing loss. I think I baffled them. When they couldn't help me, I left.

"I never checked my phone. At first it was the last thing on my mind, then it just seemed kind of pointless, you know? I sort of forgot about having it. I don't even know if it's still got a charge."

He hesitated for a moment, then added. "I'm sorry, Bobby. I really am."

He knew he owed the man so much more, but that's all he had. He risked a glance at Bobby to gauge his reaction. What he saw surprised and worried him. Bobby stood in a state of shock. He stared at Sam like he didn't quite know what to make of him. Dean was looking at him in horror. Neither man moved or spoke. Sam focused on his hands again. If Bobby was angry and Dean rejected him, he didn't know what he'd do. He could feel the need to be moving itching at him again. He'd let Bobby have his say then he'd go. It would be best for everyone, but he owed the man that much at least.

He was vaguely aware of someone moving up next to him. Gentle fingers raised his chin so that he was looking his brother in the eye. "This whole time?" Dean asked slowly. Sam nodded.

"And now?" Sam shook his head.

"They're pretty sure it's permanent. Course it's not exactly like I could tell them some demon tried to blast me, but for all I know it could been all the ramming me against that wall. The doctors didn't seem to think so though."

"Always knew you had a few screws loose." And Sam knew that was Dean's way of saying that they'd get through everything.

Sam half laughed. "You're such a jerk."

"Whatever, bitch."

Sam met Bobby's gaze over Dean's shoulder. "I really am sorry Bobby."

But Bobby was shaking his head. "Not your fault kiddo, just bad circumstances, but let's get one thing straight. I don't hate you – never could. You might make me so mad I can't see straight and maybe give me a few grey hairs, but I couldn't ever hate you. Understand?"

Sam relaxed a little and nodded. He smiled tentatively at the man and got an encouraging nod in return. Bobby still looked pale but seemed more collected and less likely to yell.

"Good, 'cause you forget again, I'll have to kick your ass till you remember."

At that Sam chuckled. "Thanks Bobby."

His attention was drawn back to Dean when he asked, "So what do we need to know?"

Sam frowned. Know? Didn't he just tell Dean everything? Well almost everything. He wasn't about to risk this truce with knowledge of demon blood and Lilith.

"To help you," Dean clarified. "What do you need?"

Sam looked at his brother as though he were just now seeing him. "Dean, you just got back from Hell. We should worry about you just now."

"Sorry little brother. Try again. I'm fine. Whoever brought me back was an over achiever. Not a scar on me except the hand print."

Sam's eyebrows shot up. "Not a single one?"

Dean grinned and shook his head. "I've got skin like an underwear model. It's awesome, dude."

"Wait, not even the one from when you…" Sam trailed fighting down a flush as he remembered Bobby's presence.

Dean's grin turned roguish. "Nope. I'm smooth as a baby's butt. So see, I'm fine."

Sam scowled. "Just because you don't have any physical scars doesn't mean you aren't hurt in other ways."

"Seriously man. I'm fine."

"Dean, I'm serious."

"So am I."

"And Hell was what? A picnic?"

Dean shrugged. "I don't remember much."

Sam narrowed his eyes at his brother. "You don't remember."

Dean shook his head.

"Then look me in the eye and say it. Say you don't remember your time in Hell."

Dean looked him square in the eye. He didn't flinch. He didn't even blink. "Sam, I don't remember my time in Hell. I remember those hounds and then waking up in a box. That's it."

Dean didn't blink. Sam didn't believe him for a second. Still, he had his brother back, so he wasn't going to call bull. Yet.

Dean brushed aside the moment and smiled. "So guess what. That means I'm back to taking care of my pain in the ass little brother."

Sam rolled his eyes but Dean wasn't done.

"I mean it Sam. I want to know what you need from me."

Sam sighed. "Not much really. Just face me when you talk and don't exaggerate your speech. Oh, and don't sneak up on me unless you want to get punched in the face. I might have decked the doctor on accident once," he said.

Dean nodded seriously. "What about sign language?"

Sam blinked. "Sign language?" Dean was thinking about sign language?

"Course. I'm surprise you've made it this long. You always did suck at reading lips."

"It's been sink or swim, Dean. And I'm still not very good at it."

"Fair enough. So?"

"Well yeah. I know some. I'm still learning but I can teach you if you want." He shrugged.

"Course you do, geek boy." Dean grinned. "Why am I not surprised. And you had better teach me. We should have done it ages ago. We'll have our own secret code."

And Sam's face lit up in a true grin for the first time in four months.


	16. A Half-Truth

This was the Dean he had missed. The Dean he had been willing to trade places with. And somehow he realized he wouldn't have to. Sam just stared. He looked up as Bobby shifted closer, coming to sit in one of the chairs across the table.

He spoke, but Sam missed the majority of it – enough that he was still lost. He hesitated, his lower lip caught in his teeth. He glanced at Dean who was watching him expectantly. He shifted in his seat.

"Sorry Bobby... I didn't catch much of that."

Bobby frowned. He spoke again, but Sam still was not getting it.

"You'll need to teach me some too, I guess." Sam nodded, then looked to Dean.

"What were you working on?"

"What?"

"You must have been here for a reason. Whatever it is, I'm guessing it's not a coincidence that someone decided to pull me out at the same time. What was it? What were you working on?"

Sam frowned again. "You're not going to like it."

Dean scowled at him. "What's that supposed to mean? Why not? What have you landed in now, Sammy?"

"I've been tracking Lilith. When I couldn't figure out how to get you back, I decided to go after her."

"You're going after Lilith! Please tell me you have a plan. Something better than poke her with a knife like last time?"

Sam debated with himself. He didn't want to keep anything from Dean, but at the same time, he knew what Dean would say. "Sort of."

"Sort of," Dean asked, narrowing his eyes. "What does sort of mean? I got to admit I don't like the sound of that much."

So a half-truth then. He couldn't keep Dean from finding out forever and he'd found that a little truth often distracted his brother from asking the important questions. It would buy him some time. "I've been tracking her. I'm getting closer."

"I'm sensing there's more to this story. Spill."

Sam gave his brother a scowl. He would have to be careful how he worded this. "I've been using Ruby to help track her down. She's got a –"

Dean growled. "You're working with that bitch?"

"It's not what you think!"

Dean leapt to his feet. "What that's supposed to mean? I go to Hell and you start letting that skank whisper in your ear?"

"You don't understand!"

Dean rounded on Sam, his face a deceptive mask of calm. "Then explain it to me Sam. Tell me exactly why you'd team up with that bitch, after everything."

Sam sank back into his chair. "She's got something up her sleeve. She knows how to take Lilith down. The only way to get her to tell me is to keep her involved. If she can be useful in the process," Sam shrugged. That should do it. Specific enough that Dean would be satisfied in his curiosity until his anger blew over, but general enough that he wasn't really lying. Not really.

"So you trust her? You put your faith in some demon skank?"

And there was the crux of the matter. He probably owed Ruby his life and telling Dean that would make everything a thousand times worse. Apparently though, Dean could read his answer in his silence. He looked at Sam with such confusion and anger and hurt that when Dean asked, "Why?" Sam couldn't deny him. Not this.

His head found his arms on the table. He couldn't look at his brother. "She found me, Dean. After everything. She found me. She probably saved my life. Ruby was the one who made me straighten out." Sam's voice dropped. "She made me keep going. She's the one who taught me to sign." And gave me some humanity again. He didn't say that though.

For all the bravery Sam had shown, he couldn't quite work up the courage to look up.

The table thumped beneath him, startling him into sitting up. Bobby was on his feet yelling at Dean, who had upended a chair – broken the leg clean off. Dean had retreated to the corner where he was leaning, facing away from Sam.

Sam watched in alarm as Dean punched the wall and Bobby yelled. He felt like his eyes were going to spin out of his head from trying to follow the events unfolding in the room. Dean spun around and yelled, flinging his hand in Sam's direction.

Sam felt the anger, so close to the surface these days, rise up. He was deaf, not invisible. He clenched his hands into tight fists. He tried to breath, but the argument went on. Sam found himself on his feet, his knuckles solidly braced on the table.

"Stop." He growled.

Everything froze. Bobby turned to stare at Sam as though he had entirely forgotten he was in the room. Dean stiffened, but refused to look at Sam. Sam took a slow, deep breath and let it go. When he spoke, he tried to keep his tone level and low. If he gave in to shouting things would spiral even worse out of control.

"I may be deaf, but I am not stupid. Do not talk about me as though I wasn't here."

Sam met his brother's wide eyes. While Dean might still be fuming mad about whatever he had been yelling about, he had the grace to look ashamed of himself.

"I have been working with Ruby. Me. I made that call and I stand by it. If you don't like that decision, talk to _me_ about. Or be your usual surly, emotionally-repressed self. Whatever. But don't ever use my deafness against me again."

He saw the exact moment when Dean realized what Sam was saying. He paled and his face lost the angry lines it had held only moments before. Sam had a brief flash of guilt. He was not trying to diffuse Dean's anger, but he would not be treated as less than human.

"Sammy, no." Dean frowned, at a loss for words. "No. I'm pissed at you, don't get me wrong, but that wasn't my intention. I'm just so used to you holding your own when we argue. It didn't even occur to me, man. It's going to take some time to adjust, but I would never do that intentionally."

Sam nodded hesitantly. He knew it would be difficult for Dean. He wasn't going to be perfect at this in the half hour since Sam had dropped the news on him, but Sam would not be shut out by his own family.

Dean's scowl was back when he spoke again. "You've still got a lot of explaining to do."

Sam rolled his eyes, but nodded. "Fine. That I can deal with."

And he could. With Dean there, he could deal with anything.

Finis


	17. Dear Reader

I always debate about whether to comment as we go, put it all at the beginning, or save it up for the end. Or maybe I should just keep it to myself and let the work stand. But this being fanfiction and published on the net, I figured a little bit of commentary wouldn't be out of place. I pushed it all off to the end since the prompt I'm working from was pretty extensive in the way these things tend to be. I wanted to let you read the story before you knew the plot line because I'm weird that way.

As always the standard disclaimer applies to this fic. I do not own Supernatural. I am merely a fan with an over-active imagination and a bit of free time. That is why they call it _fan_ fiction, you see. All though given the nods and winks towards fandom that crop up in the show, it looks like the good folks who do make the show consider it a sign of success. Anyway, anything you recognize is not mine. Please don't sue me.

I always love to hear from you wonderful, blessed peeps that read my stuff, here or elsewhere on the Internet. Reviews are much coveted and make me feel all warm and happy inside. Plus, hearing your opinions always gives me a new perspective.

I do have a confession to make. I had no idea what genre to drop this into. If there's something else that seems more appropriate drop me a note and I'll change it. It did have hurt Sam in it and there seemed to be a generous enough dose of angst to warrant those labels, but most of the time I'm at a loss as to how I should categorize these things.

This is based on a prompt I found over at the Coalition for the Written Enhancement of Sam's Story. I think. Best as I can tell it was listed in the Challenges section over there. If you can navigate through the forum labyrinth and find a more definite person or place I should attribute, please let me know. I like to give credit, but I sort of stumbled on an archival htm site from an unrelated google search. Looks like it was old too. 2012 old. Which in terms of the Internet is ancient.

I found this one by accident, but the prompt took over my brain. I really did promise myself that the next something I wrote would be not as dark. Or would at least be the conclusion to another story. Oh well. This one is complete. I get points for that, right? Right?

Anyway. Here's the prompt. I've edited it just slightly to make it more readable and less punctuationless. Shut up. It's totally a word. Besides, I never promised literary genius.

 _What if Sam was deaf when Dean got out of Hell? After Lilith lets the hellhounds in to kill Dean she uses her white light ray gun to try to kill Sam but it only made his ears bleed (he doesn't notice until later). Bobby hasn't seen or heard from Sam since Dean died and doesn't know that Sam is deaf now but thinks that he's refusing to answer his phone. Sam is hell bent on revenge for Dean and his hearing loss and practices using his powers. Ruby knows sign language. When Dean comes back, Sam is changed._

As you can tell, I couldn't quite rock the Sam goes completely hell-bent mental. It just didn't jive with Sam as I imagined him here, and since I wasn't filling for someone else, I politely ignored that bit. I could see him getting to that point if Dean had been gone longer, and I did want that flavor to come through, but I couldn't get it to work when really he had less time with Ruby training him to vanquish demons with his mind than in the show.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed it. Drop me a note and let me know what you think. I make no promises that it won't get edited in the future, but I'm so stoked that I finally got a completed fic up here. Now if I could finish one of the others.

If you made it to the end of this note, I applaud you.

Ciao!

~Crystal


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